


lashton prompt fics

by softirwin



Series: tumblr prompt fics [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softirwin/pseuds/softirwin
Summary: more prompt fics i've never crossposted wow its amazing what procrastination can motivate you to do
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin
Series: tumblr prompt fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982899
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	1. them spending their first night together (platonic, just sleeping)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke and Ashton have shared a bed many times before. 
> 
> Fuck, they’ve even shared a bunk, Ashton pressed uncomfortably against Luke’s back as he tried not to fall the two metres from Luke’s stupidly high bunk to the floor (again). 
> 
> This time, though, it’s different. This time, it’s not Ashton pressed against Luke, heart hammering in his chest at the contact and hoping wildly that Luke can’t hear it, it’s not Ashton’s palms slick with sweat and him trying to surreptitiously wipe them on the sheets, it’s not Luke grumbling about him hogging the duvet and trying to tug enough away from Ashton that he could burrow into it himself. 
> 
> This time, it’s Luke curled up at Ashton’s side, head resting on his chest, arm slung around Ashton’s waist. This time, it’s Ashton’s fingers threaded through Luke’s hair, playing gently with the blonde curls. This time, it’s Luke pressing soft, absent-minded kisses to Ashton’s bare skin, tracing shapes on his stomach with his fingers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: send me a “together” and i’ll write a drabble about them spending their first night together (platonic, just sleeping)

Luke and Ashton have shared a bed many times before. 

Fuck, they’ve even shared a _bunk_ , Ashton pressed uncomfortably against Luke’s back as he tried not to fall the two metres from Luke’s stupidly high bunk to the floor (again). 

(“This is why you have your own fucking bunk,” Calum had said, amusement clear in his tone as he’d stared down at Ashton from his own bunk rather than making any move to help him up. Ashton had considered pretending his neck had snapped to make Calum feel bad, but then Luke had poked his head out of his bunk, rubbing at his eyes sleepily, and made grabby hands for Ashton to come back. And what was Ashton supposed to do, say no to Luke?) 

This time, though, it’s different. This time, it’s not Ashton pressed against Luke, heart hammering in his chest at the contact and hoping wildly that Luke can’t hear it, it’s not Ashton’s palms slick with sweat and him trying to surreptitiously wipe them on the sheets, it’s not Luke grumbling about him hogging the duvet and trying to tug enough away from Ashton that he could burrow into it himself. 

This time, it’s Luke curled up at Ashton’s side, head resting on his chest, arm slung around Ashton’s waist. This time, it’s Ashton’s fingers threaded through Luke’s hair, playing gently with the blonde curls. This time, it’s Luke pressing soft, absent-minded kisses to Ashton’s bare skin, tracing shapes on his stomach with his fingers. 

“It’s getting late,” Ashton murmurs, even though he doesn’t want to, because they haven’t talked about this yet, about what sleeping over might mean now that they’re…whatever they are. They haven’t talked about that either. They haven’t talked about much, really, too caught up in stealing kisses and glances and smiles when no one else can see them.

“Mm,” Luke hums, and Ashton feels the vibrations reverberate through both of their bodies. 

“Hey,” Ashton says, tilting his head to look at Luke, and Luke shifts backwards slightly to blink up at him. “You need to drive before you get sleepy. I don’t want you to crash.” 

“Don’t wanna go,” Luke mumbles, nuzzling back into Ashton’s chest. Ashton’s heart kind of aches and kind of sings at the sight. 

“You wanna stay?” he asks, trying not to let his breathing quicken with the adrenaline that comes with anticipating Luke’s answer. He’s going to say no, Ashton thinks, steeling himself and trying to talk his adrenal gland off its high horse. He’s not slept over yet, not since they started _this_. 

“Yeah,” Luke says, lips moving across Ashton’s skin, and a warmth unfurls in Ashton’s chest, spreading through his veins with every beat of his heart. He wraps an arm around Luke’s shoulders, pulling him closer, and presses a kiss to the top of his head. 

“Okay,” he says, into Luke’s curls. “Stay.” 

He feels Luke smile against his chest, and it feels like slotting the final piece of a jigsaw into place. 


	2. one character touching the other all over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the best things about being with Ashton is getting to touch him. 
> 
> And yeah, that might be a little superficial, because Ashton’s also hilarious, and thoughtful, and kind, and generous, and caring, and intelligent, and a million other things that made Luke fall in love with him, but when Luke’s lying on Ashton’s chest, Ashton’s arm wrapped around him, none of that seems as important as the tanned skin beneath Luke’s fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: send me a “roam” and i'll write a drabble about one character touching the other all over

One of the best things about being with Ashton is getting to touch him. 

And yeah, that might be a little superficial, because Ashton’s also hilarious, and thoughtful, and kind, and generous, and caring, and intelligent, and a million other things that made Luke fall in love with him, but when Luke’s lying on Ashton’s chest, Ashton’s arm wrapped around him, none of that seems as important as the tanned skin beneath Luke’s fingers. 

“You’re so fucking fit,” Luke says, interrupting whatever Ashton’s been saying about some producer he ran into the other day and thinks they’d enjoy working with. Ashton cuts himself off with a laugh. 

“Is that all I am to you?” he teases, as Luke lets his fingers play across Ashton’s stomach. Luke chooses to ignore it. 

“Tense,” he demands instead, and there’s a pause for a moment during which Luke is absolutely certain Ashton’s rolling his eyes, and then his stomach is tensing under Luke’s fingers, and Luke prods at it in amazement, feeling the rock-hard muscle resisting him. It’s not an unusual demand from Luke, and he knows Ashton kind of gets off on how much Luke loves it. 

Luke pushes himself onto his elbow so that he can see Ashton’s body properly, eyes trailing to his chest, watching the expanse of tanned skin rising and falling with every breath. Ashton’s arm falls from Luke’s shoulders to his waist, curling around Luke gently, carefully, like he’s aware of his own strength. It makes Luke’s head spin. 

“I don’t get how you’re so strong,” he says, reaching over to Ashton’s arm and poking at his bicep. Even with his arm lying at his side, relaxed and limp, Luke can feel the muscle not yielding to the pressure of his fingertips. 

“I work out,” Ashton says. Luke rolls his eyes. 

“So do I,” he says, a little petulantly, because he _does_ , but _he’s_ still soft around the edges. Ashton’s hand tightens on Luke’s waist, squeezing slightly. 

“Stop fishing for compliments,” Ashton says, both amused and affectionate, and Luke scowls. He swats at Ashton’s stomach lightly, relishing the way his muscles tense instinctively, rippling under his skin.

“Dickhead,” he says, but then he’s leaning down to press kisses from Ashton’s hip along his stomach and up across the breadth of his chest. Ashton doesn’t speak as Luke’s lips drag across the expanse of his torso, chest rising and falling steadily, but as Luke gets closer to Ashton’s lips he can make out shaky exhales in the silence of the room. His lips curve up in a smile against Ashton’s collarbone, and he noses into Ashton’s neck, pressing chaste kisses to the warm skin. Ashton tilts his head, giving Luke better access, and Luke lets his teeth graze across Ashton’s neck slightly, going slightly dizzy as he hears Ashton moan softly. 

He pulls away from Ashton, hearing his breath hitch, and braces himself on his elbow again, gazing up at Ashton. Ashton blinks down at him, a tendril of black hair falling into his eyes. Luke reaches forward to brush it away, and doesn’t miss the way Ashton’s eyes follow him, soft and fond. It makes Luke’s heart sing, and he leans in to press a kiss to Ashton’s cheekbone, trailing down to kiss along his jawline until Ashton’s had enough and turns his head, capturing Luke’s lips with his own. 

They kiss slowly for a minute, lips moving soft and lazy against one another, until Luke’s arm feels like it’s about to give in and he has to fall back down, settling for nuzzling into Ashton’s neck. 

“You’re so hot,” he mumbles, words trapped between his lips and Ashton’s skin. “Fuck me?” 

“You’re such a fucking groupie,” Ashton says, and Luke can hear both the grin and the fondness in his voice. 

“Fuck _you_ ,” Luke says, a touch sullen. 

“Only if you ask politely.” 


	3. the aftermath of a bad fight / "No, I love you too much to let you walk away like this.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you fucking serious?” Ashton asks, half-incredulous, half-pissed off. He’s sat at the table with his laptop out, glasses on, staring intently at the screen. 
> 
> “What?” Luke asks, putting away the last of the glasses he’d been drying and hanging up the towel. Ashton turns the laptop screen around, but all Luke can see is lines and lines of numbers and words. “Ash, I’m not reading all that.” 
> 
> “Clearly fucking not,” Ashton says, and he’s definitely angry now. Luke’s a little taken aback. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: the aftermath of a bad fight / "No, I love you too much to let you walk away like this.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Ashton asks, half-incredulous, half-pissed off. He’s sat at the table with his laptop out, glasses on, staring intently at the screen. 

“What?” Luke asks, putting away the last of the glasses he’d been drying and hanging up the towel. Ashton turns the laptop screen around, but all Luke can see is lines and lines of numbers and words. “Ash, I’m not reading all that.” 

“Clearly fucking not,” Ashton says, and he’s definitely angry now. Luke’s a little taken aback. 

“Woah, what the fuck?” he says, holding his hands up. “What’s with the attitude?” 

“You spent _two thousand dollars_ on clothes last month,” Ashton says furiously. 

“It’s my money,” Luke says, a shade indignant. 

“This is _exactly_ the fucking problem,” Ashton says, throwing his hands up in the air. “It’s not _your_ money anymore, it’s _our_ money.” 

“I fucking earnt it,” Luke says, feeling the anger rise in his chest. “I’ll spend it how I fucking like.” 

“And what about our groceries? Or our bills? Or our pensions? I suppose you want that to come out of what _I_ earnt?” 

“That’s bullshit,” Luke says angrily, because that’s not fair. “There’s plenty left over from what I spend for bills.” 

“Oh, is there?” Ashton says, pushing his glasses up his nose and managing to look enraged as he does. “Do you know how much you spent last month?”

“I have a feeling I’m about to find out,” Luke says, folding his arms. 

“Two thousand on clothes,” Ashton says, ticking things off on his fingers, “five hundred on takeaways, a hundred on a gym membership for a gym you haven’t been to in seven months, seventy-five on a phone bill-” 

“I don’t need the entire fucking list,” Luke interrupts, because by his reckoning, there’s still plenty left over for bills and groceries. 

“Well, what _do_ you need to get it into your head that you _cannot_ keep spending like this?” Ashton says heatedly. 

“What the fuck?” Luke demands angrily. “Why the fuck are you dictating how I spend my money?” 

“Are you fucking serious?” Ashton says irately. “You- can you not even see how self-absorbed you are? Are you physically capable of thinking of something bigger than yourself?” And, okay, that’s a low fucking blow, and Ashton seems to know it as soon as the words have left his mouth, possibly seeing the way Luke’s face falls. 

“Right,” Luke says dully. 

“I didn’t mean that,” Ashton says, but they both know he kind of did. 

“Yeah, you did,” Luke says flatly, and, because he’s maybe a little bit dramatic and a lot hurt, he tries to push past Ashton and head to the bathroom, ready to lock himself in and let himself hurt in peace, but Ashton catches his arm as he walks past. 

“Let me go,” Luke says. 

“I’m sorry,” Ashton says. 

“Let me go,” Luke repeats. 

“No,” Ashton says. “I love you too much to let you walk away like this.” Luke knows what he means - _I love you too much to let you walk away with us like this_. Luke deflates, going limp in Ashton’s grip. 

“That was just mean,” he says quietly. 

“I know,” Ashton says. “I- I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated, but. That’s not an excuse.” 

“No,” Luke says, “it’s not.” But this is an adult relationship, and Luke’s an adult, and that means acknowledging where he’s wrong. So Luke sighs, swallows, and adds, “I’m sorry too.” 

“I know,” Ashton says. “Let’s just- let’s talk about this when we’re not upset, okay?” Luke nods, and Ashton drops his arm. Luke catches Ashton’s wrist as he pulls away. 

“Hey,” he says gently. 

“Hey,” Ashton says, equally soft. “Let’s take a minute to calm down.” Luke nods, and brings Ashton’s hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to his fingers. 

“I’ll see you in a bit,” he says, because he’s going to go and play guitar, and Ashton’s going to go and play drums. Ashton smiles at him and nods, closing the laptop and pushing his glasses up his nose again. 

“I love you,” he says, a little tentative, as he watches Luke walk out of the room. Luke stops in the doorway, and smiles at Ashton, fond and reassuring. 

“I love you too.” 


	4. one character comforting the other - billboard drama edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One thing Luke knows he’ll always be grateful for in years to come, when he thinks back on this, is that he was with Ashton at the time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: send me a “hush” and i’ll write a drabble about one character comforting the other (from fear or grief) - billboard drama edition

One thing Luke knows he’ll always be grateful for in years to come, when he thinks back on this, is that he was with Ashton at the time. 

Luke and Ashton actually both miss the call. Their sleeping schedules completely fucked because of quarantine leading to random mid-afternoon naps, Luke curled up on Ashton’s chest with the sheets flung off because it’s ridiculously warm for March. Luke’s the first to wake, pressing a soft kiss to Ashton’s forehead as he reaches over and grabs his phone off the charger. He nestles back into Ashton’s side, unlocking his phone, and immediately sees that he has _seven hundred_ messages. 

He doesn’t immediately panic, because the last time he had seven hundred unread messages was because Calum and Michael were in a heated debate about what Australian cereal they miss the most. It’s only when he sees the seventeen missed calls from his management team that he starts to worry, clicking into the group chat to see what he’s missed. The chat’s still active, new messages appearing every few seconds-

_**CH**  
It’s fucking insane _

_**CH**  
Can we recall any? _

_**MC**  
we have_

_**MC**  
like forty thousand _

_**CH**  
Fucking hell _

Luke frowns. 

_**Me**  
What’s going on _

The group chat explodes immediately. 

_**CH**  
Fucking finally _

_**MC**  
where the fuck have you been?_

_**Me**  
Nap_

_**MC**  
bunch of albums got released early_

_**MC**  
shipping error_

_**CH**  
Billboard won’t count them_

Luke’s stomach drops. Are they going to make it into the top ten?

_**Me**  
How many _

_**MC**  
50k, we recalled 40k _

_**CH**  
Ten thousand _

Fucking hell. Jesus fucking Christ. 

“Ashton,” Luke says urgently, nudging Ashton’s side. Ashton groans, and rolls over. “Ash, seriously. Wake up.” 

“What?” Ashton mumbles. “‘m sleepin’.” 

“There’s been a shipping error,” Luke says, trying not to let the panic leak into his voice. Ashton rolls back over and rubs his eyes, looking at Luke blearily. 

“What?” 

“They’ve shipped a bunch of albums early,” Luke says, “and Billboard’s not going to count them.” Ashton sits bolt upright, grabbing his phone off the bedside table and scanning through the messages. Michael and Calum are still talking in the group chat - Luke can see his phone lighting up incessantly - and eventually Ashton puts his phone down and stares at Luke. 

“No number one,” he says, sounding strangely calm. 

Luke’s stomach bottoms out. He hadn’t even thought that far ahead. 

“Oh,” he says, and his voice sounds a little strangled. Ashton just stares at him. 

“No number one,” he repeats, like he’s trying to force it to sink in. Luke swallows. 

“We have three number one debuts already,” he tries, but he knows it doesn’t stop the smarting. “And it’s still a good album.”

“This is everything,” Ashton says, a little dazed. “This is all I am.” 

“That’s- no, Ashton,” Luke says, scrambling to his knees. 

“It is,” Ashton says. “You- you’ve got your modelling, Mike’s got his gaming, Cal’s got a whole bunch of shit. I’ve got nothing else. I- this is my life.” 

“You’re more than the music,” Luke says, and Ashton looks at him, a _don’t even try it_ look. “No, Ash, you are. You’re a wonderful friend. You’re an artist, a fucking visionary. You’re an amazing brother. You’re the best boyfriend I could have ever asked for. Don’t reduce yourself to that.” 

“But that’s all I am to _me_ ,” Ashton says. “I- I’ve never done anything worthwhile in my life, besides the music. That’s, like. How I measure myself.” 

Luke’s heart splinters, just enough for it to ache. 

“Don’t say that,” he says fiercely. Ashton shrugs, and it’s deflated and sad. “Come here.” Luke holds his arms open, and Ashton only hesitates for a moment before shuffling forwards and leaning into Luke, who falls backwards, pulling Ashton on top of him. Ashton tucks his face into Luke’s neck, curls up on Luke, makes himself as small as possible, and Luke wraps his arms around Ashton as tightly as he can. 

“We don’t know how it’s going to turn out yet,” Luke says, threading his fingers through Ashton’s hair and scratching over his scalp. 

“It’s not going to be number one,” Ashton mumbles, muffled by Luke’s skin. 

“We don’t know that,” Luke says, even though it’s pretty much a done deal, with _ten thousand_ records out of the window. 

“We do,” Ashton says. “And it’s not even our fault. I could have lived with it if people just didn’t like it.” 

“No, you couldn’t,” Luke says, because that’s a straight up lie. 

“Okay, I couldn’t,” Ashton admits, “but at least I wouldn’t feel so _powerless_.” Luke swallows, squeezing Ashton tighter. 

“I know,” he says. Ashton says nothing, just noses deeper into Luke’s neck, but Luke knows it’s what he needs. There’s nothing Luke can say to make it better, but he can be there. He can hold Ashton, kiss him, stroke his hair, tell him he loves him, make him feel safe and secure and stable until he can do that for himself again. 

“You’re _my_ number one,” he says sincerely, playing with a tendril of hair near Ashton’s ear. There’s a moment’s pause, then Ashton snorts. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, but Luke can hear the smile in his voice, and knows that he’s going to be okay. 


	5. one character asking the other to return / one character apologising to the other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is a truth universally acknowledged that Luke is a fucking drama queen. 
> 
> Or, at least, Ashton thinks darkly as he shoves his hands into his pockets to protect them from the wind, that’s what Austen would have written had she known Luke for more than two minutes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: send me a “come back” and i’ll write a drabble about one character asking the other to return (they parted after a fight, the other has been missing for a while, etc) / send me a “sorry” and i’ll write a drabble about one character apologising to the other (hurting the other’s feelings, do something that angered the other, etc)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Luke is a fucking drama queen. 

Or, at least, Ashton thinks darkly as he shoves his hands into his pockets to protect them from the wind, that’s what Austen would have written had she known Luke for more than two minutes. 

Ashton had told Luke he needed today, just _one day_ , to himself. One day to answer all his emails, get on top of all his admin work, do his tax returns, all the boring adult shit that he doesn’t want to do but has to, and requires concentration. One day. 

Luke had whined, bitched, moaned, but told Ashton he could have his one day. He’d sulked around the house all of the previous evening, waiting for Ashton to ask what was wrong rather than acting like a fucking adult and expressing how he felt, and, when Ashton hadn’t played into his childish behaviour, had exploded, blurting that he didn’t _get_ why Ashton couldn’t just do all that stuff with Luke. 

(“Just because you can do it with me around doesn’t mean I can do it with you around,” Ashton had tried to explain patiently. “Different people focus differently.” 

“So you don’t love me?” Luke had said, and Ashton had stared at him in absolute disbelief. 

“How the fuck did you get that from ‘we’re different people’?” he’d asked incredulously, and Luke had been so incensed that Ashton hadn’t immediately soothed his ego and assured him that yes, he did love him, that he’d flounced off to their bedroom and gone to sleep. 

At eight p.m.) 

Ashton had woken up early specifically so he could hopefully get everything done by late afternoon and have a few hours to unwind with Luke, and he’d actually managed to make such a sizeable dent in his to-do list that by lunchtime he was making himself a sandwich, humming happily and mentally planning a schedule for the rest of the day. He’d reckoned he could have been done by about four, which would have left him and Luke with plenty of time to do something fun. 

That had been the moment that Luke had walked into the kitchen, seen Ashton dancing on the spot to the song he’d been humming. 

“Oh,” he’d said, petulant and upset. “I see.” Ashton had closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose before spinning around to face Luke. 

“What?” he’d said. 

“You’re having a great day,” Luke had said pointedly. 

“Answering emails isn’t my idea of a great day,” Ashton had said. Luke’s features had twisted into a frown. 

“Well, you’re fucking humming and dancing,” he’d said. “I haven’t seen you that happy in a long time.” Ashton had rolled his eyes so hard he thinks he may have permanently strained them. 

“You’re fucking impossible, Luke,” he’d said, tone harder than he’d intended, and Luke’s face had shifted from upset to angry. 

“What?” he’d asked bitterly. “I’m not allowed to be upset that the happiest I’ve seen my boyfriend in weeks is when he’s not spending time with me?” Ashton hadn’t been able to stop himself laughing at that, biting and humourless. 

“Are you fucking serious?” he’d asked angrily. 

“Am _I_ fucking serious?” Luke had repeated, voice rising. 

“You’re insane,” Ashton had said acidly. “I’m not here for your fucking entertainment, Luke.” 

“What the fuck are you good for, then?” Luke had said spitefully, because he knows exactly what buttons and insecurities to push at to get a reaction, and Ashton had swallowed back the fury rising in his stomach.

“Fuck you,” Ashton had spat, and he’d shouldered past Luke and stormed out of the house. 

That’s how he’d ended up here, in a little park a few streets away, walking laps around it to try and burn off all the anger fizzing in his veins and churning in his stomach. It had only taken an hour or so until the anger had dissipated, but the lingering hurt still hasn’t gone four hours later. 

He’s sat on a park bench, eyes closed as he tries not to think both about the fact he’s going to have to go home and face Luke at some point and he’s now got to set aside _another_ half a day to finish off all the shit he didn’t get done today, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. 

Ashton contemplates not looking at it, because he knows it’s going to be Luke, but part of being an adult in an adult relationship (not that Luke would know anything about that, he thinks bitingly) is facing your problems and communicating. So he pulls his phone out, presses the home button, and reads the text. 

_**Luke US New New Real New (Actual New 2020)**  
I’m sorry. Please come home _

Ashton toys with his phone for a minute, wondering whether he should reply, before deciding there’s no point if he’s going to go home. He pulls himself off the bench with a sigh, dread settling in his stomach as he walks out of the gate and down the two roads back home. He’s not sure he wants to face this music. 

He unlocks the door as quietly as he can, but it’s to no avail, because Luke’s sat on the bottom step of their staircase, eyes red, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands and suspiciously dark-looking. He jumps when Ashton walks in, but doesn’t get up, just looks at him, biting his lip. 

They stare at each other for a moment, and then Ashton breaks their gaze to fumble with his shoes, busying himself so he won’t have to look at Luke. Finally, though, after he’s rearranged his shoes about fifteen times, he has no choice but to look back at him. Luke swallows, and pulls himself to his feet. 

“I’m sorry,” he says eventually.

“That’s not good enough,” Ashton says quietly. Luke bites his lip again. 

“I know,” he says, and then rushes to continue when Ashton opens his mouth. “But just- just hear me out, okay?” Ashton sighs, and nods. “Okay. I fucked up. I was being selfish, self-absorbed, childish and…uh, kind of ridiculous, honestly. I took that out on you, which was unfair, and I’m _so_ sorry that I said what I said. I didn’t mean it, obviously - it was just me being spiteful and trying to hurt you.” Luke pauses, and takes a deep breath. “I understand that I _have_ hurt you, and I understand that I’ve fucked up by being selfish and self-obsessed. My feelings aren’t more important than yours, and I understand that too. I’d like to do whatever you feel you need to work past this. If you need space, that’s okay. If you don’t think you can forgive me and don’t want to be with me anymore-” he swallows again, and Ashton can see the tears pricking at his eyes, but he pushes through it. “-then that’s okay too. You’re the most important thing to me, Ashton, and I want to do whatever I can to show you that I’m sorry.” He finishes with a shaky exhale, and Ashton stares at him, trying to comprehend what he’s just heard. It’s sensitive, sensible, put-together, and-

“Did you Google how to give a proper apology?” he asks, and one of the tears in Luke’s eyes falls as he laughs sadly. He brings the wet sleeve of his hoodie up to wipe it away as he nods. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I know I suck at apologising. I wrote it all down in a note.” Ashton swallows. 

“Oh, Luke,” he whispers, because if Luke went so far as to Google how to fucking apologise properly, he must _really_ fucking mean it. 

“One of the websites said I shouldn’t put the responsibility for fixing it on you, because it was me that fucked up, and I get that, but I need to know whether you want space, or, like…” Luke trails off, looking unsure. Ashton blinks. 

“Come here,” he says, holding his arms open, and Luke hesitates. 

“I don’t want you to just sweep this under the rug,” he says tentatively. “I’m not apologising because I want things to be okay. I’m apologising because I’m sorry about what I did to you.” 

“Jesus,” Ashton says, and he can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. “How many fucking websites did you read?” Luke makes a sound that sounds like it was meant to be a laugh but ends up more of a sniffle. 

“A lot,” he admits. 

“Come here,” Ashton repeats, and this time Luke does, wrapping his wet sleeves around Ashton’s neck and burying his face in Ashton’s neck as Ashton holds him tightly, trying not to let his own tears fall onto Luke’s shoulder. 

“I’m still upset,” he tells Luke, and he feels Luke nod against him. 

“That’s understandable,” Luke mumbles. 

“I love you,” Ashton says, gentler this time. “I’m never not going to love you. It’ll be okay.” Luke nods again, and Ashton squeezes him as tightly as he can. 

“I love you too,” Luke whispers. They stand there for a moment, and Ashton brings a hand up to wipe away the tears from his own eyes. 

“I can’t believe you Googled how to give me an apology,” he says, voice thick, and Luke laughs. Ashton feels it reverberate through both of their bodies, warming his heart, and presses a kiss to Luke’s shoulder. 

They’re going to be okay.


	6. "what did you wish for?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashton’s always been ridiculously superstitious. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "what did you wish for?"

Ashton’s always been ridiculously superstitious. 

He’s always saluted magpies, crossed his fingers, touched wood, waited until he was outside to open umbrellas, refused to tell anybody what he wished for when he blew out the candles on his birthday cake. So, Luke thinks it’s kind of strange when one day, he points out an eyelash, and Ashton just wipes it away. 

“Aren’t you going to make a wish?” he asks. Ashton shrugs. 

“Nope,” he says. “Do we need eggs?” Luke frowns, files the information away, and tells Ashton they have at least fourteen eggs in the fridge and he will kill him if he buys any more. 

After that, Luke notices it’s become a bit of a pattern. 

On one occasion, they’re sat in a field, Luke’s head in Ashton’s lap, Ashton’s fingers in Luke’s hair, chatting about the renovations Ashton wants to make and Luke trying to convince him to repaint their bedroom. Luke picks up a dandelion, holds it up to Ashton’s lips, and Ashton blows the whole thing out in one go. 

“What did you wish for?” Luke asks, because he always does. 

“Nothing,” Ashton says. Luke frowns, and makes a mental note of it. “What do you think about stripping the floor tiles in the en suite?” Luke groans, and throws the stalk of the dandelion away. 

“Do you just get off on fucking with things that don’t need to be fucked with?” he asks Ashton, who swats him gently. 

On another occasion, they’re somewhere in Europe, Ashton’s hand tucked in Luke’s back pocket as he animatedly tells Luke some bullshit story about how a witch lived in the house across the square and cursed the whole town in the fifteenth century. They walk as he talks, and end up in the middle of the square, by an old fountain. 

“…and she was only _twenty-five_ , Luke, like, how cool is that? I’m twenty-five. That could be me. I could curse a town,” Ashton continues, as Luke digs in his pockets for change. He finds what he thinks is a cent and a penny, and holds one up to Ashton. Ashton takes it, curls it in his fist, and throws it in the water, and Luke follows suit. 

“What did you wish for?” Luke asks, because he always does. 

“Nothing,” Ashton says, and then his eyes widen, and he grins. “Hey, that’s the house! Do we have time to go in? C’mon, we have time, right?” Luke looks at him for a moment, scrutinising him, and then rolls his eyes, but lets himself be dragged off to this weird ass medieval house. 

Another time, they’re lounging on the sofa, watching TV, Ashton draped across Luke’s chest, and Luke starts having to stifle a yawn every five minutes. 

“Time’s it?” he asks Ashton, when the time between yawns gets to thirty seconds. Ashton picks up his phone and unlocks it so they can both see the numbers - _11:11_. 

“Eleven eleven,” Ashton says. 

“What did you wish for?” Luke asks, because he always does. 

“Nothing,” Ashton says, pushing himself upright. “Let’s get you to bed, pretty boy.” Luke narrows his eyes at Ashton, considering, and then tries to scowl at the same time as he yawns, and Ashton laughs at him as he scoops him into his arms. 

When July rolls around, Luke orders Ashton a cake in the shape of a drum kit. He carefully sticks twenty-six candles in various parts of the kit, even managing to balance one on the hi-hat, until it looks like less of a cake and more of a fire hazard. Whatever, like it’s Luke’s fault Ashton’s so fucking old. 

Ashton loves it, because of course he does, practically squealing with glee when Luke brings it out. Calum and Michael are laughing, and Andy’s filming the whole thing as Ashton leans forward and blows out all his candles in one go. 

“What did you wish for?” Luke asks, because he always does. Ashton turns to him, smiling brilliantly. 

“Nothing,” he says. “How the fuck did you get this many candles in there?” Luke cocks his head, and files the information away.

“Trial and error,” Luke tells him. Ashton grins, and wraps his arm around Luke, pulling him in for a kiss, and Luke forgets all about the wishes. 

It comes to a head in October. 

They’re huddled outside by their fire pit, watching the stars in the clear skies of the California hills, Ashton pointing out constellations to Luke. 

“…and that’s Orion, see? You see his belt?” Luke nods, even though he thinks he’s looking at least four stars away from the direction Ashton’s pointing in. “And if you follow the belt, you-” Ashton’s cut off by Luke gasping and pointing at where a white light is streaking through the sky. 

“A shooting star!” he says.

“I’ve never seen one of those before,” Ashton says, sounding kind of awed. 

“It’s beautiful,” Luke says, watching as the star burns itself out on the horizon. 

“Mm,” Ashton agrees, pulling Luke tighter to him. 

“What did you wish for?” Luke asks, because he always does. 

“Nothing,” Ashton says. 

“Why don’t you make wishes anymore?” Luke asks. Ashton looks at him in surprise.

“What?”

“Well, there was that time with the dandelion, and with the fountain, and then on your birthday? Oh, and when it was eleven eleven - you used to have an _alarm_ set for eleven eleven, and now you don’t even flinch. What happened?” 

Ashton stares at Luke, and then the corner of his lips tilt up in a smile. 

“I can’t believe you noticed that,” he says, smiling fondly at Luke. 

“Well, obviously,” Luke says, a touch defensive. “I notice everything you do. Or don’t do.” Ashton just grins at him, and then looks back at the sky, shaking his head. 

“I stopped needing to make wishes,” he says, like that’s an explanation. 

“Why?” Ashton tilts his head, smiling at the moon. 

“D’you know what I used to wish for?” he says. 

“No,” Luke says, “because you refused to tell me.” Not that it’s a sore spot for Luke, or anything. 

“Well, it wouldn’t have come true otherwise,” Ashton points out. Luke scowls. “But it’s happened now, so I can tell you.” 

“Well?” Luke prompts.

“I wished for you.” 

Luke hesitates for a moment, and then his face splits into a grin. That’s the cutest fucking thing he’s ever heard. 

“You wished for me?” he repeats, and Ashton nods. 

“That’s why I don’t need to wish anymore,” he says. Luke’s cheeks are hurting from how wide he’s smiling, but he doesn’t even care. 

“You’re so fucking cheesy,” he says. 

“I’d prefer to call it romantic,” Ashton says diplomatically, and Luke laughs. 

“I love you,” he says fondly, and Ashton rests his head on Luke’s shoulder. 

“I love you too,” he says. 

They sit in silence for a while, the warmth of the fire and Ashton complementing the giddiness in Luke’s head. 

“You know, you could still use those wishes,” Luke comments after a good ten minutes have passed. “Could wish for some soundproofing for the basement when you start drumming at one in the morning.” 

Ashton swats his arm, and Luke laughs, darting away from him.

With the heat of the fire, the beauty of the stars, and the warmth of Ashton’s love, Luke kind of understands what Ashton means. He’s not sure he needs to wish anymore either. 


	7. luke orders 100 bars of soap and ashton’s the delivery man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke wrenches his door open to come face to face with the hottest guy he thinks he’s ever seen, who’s clearly trying to suppress a laugh.
> 
> “Luke Hemmings?” the guy asks, pushing a strand of black hair out of his eyes, and Luke nods. “One hundred bars of soap?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: luke orders 100 bars of soap and ashton’s the delivery man
> 
> god i love insane prompts. please send me some

Luke wrenches his door open to come face to face with the hottest guy he thinks he’s ever seen, who’s clearly trying to suppress a laugh.

“Luke Hemmings?” the guy asks, pushing a strand of black hair out of his eyes, and Luke nods. “One hundred bars of soap?”

“Oh, fucking hell,” Luke groans. The guy snorts, and then tries to school his features into something resembling sincerity.

“Sign here, please,” he says, holding out the machine. Luke takes it, scribbles half-heartedly, and hands it back. The guy thanks him, and hands him the box. He hesitates for a moment, and then- “What the fuck do you need a hundred bars of soap for, dude?”

“I was drunk,” Luke says, and the guy bursts out laughing.

“What the fuck?” he says, through giggles. “Who orders soap when they’re drunk? I usually just give hot guys my number.” Luke scowls, but it’s good-natured. He _is_ pretty fucking stupid when he’s drunk.

“I think soap is about five stages after giving hot guys my number,” Luke says mournfully. “Hot guys is like, stage two.” The guy grins at him.

“You wouldn’t happen to be stage-two drunk now, would you?” he says hopefully.


	8. spin the bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Ashton tells Michael, when the bottle lands on him. Michael scowls. 
> 
> “No it’s not,” he says, folding his arms. 
> 
> “No, it definitely is,” Luke says, flashing Ashton a smile that makes Ashton’s stomach flip. Ashton thinks the fact that Luke’s always on his side might be at least forty percent of the reason he’s been hopelessly in love with him for at least a year. 
> 
> “Fuck you,” Michael says. “Spin the fucking bottle, Ash.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a spin the bottle fic where everyone gets a lil jealous and ends up with the right person anyway (bonus points for michael threatening to fight ashton for kissing calum, and luke agreeing to team up to fight calum)

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Ashton tells Michael, when the bottle lands on him. Michael scowls. 

“No it’s not,” he says, folding his arms. 

“No, it definitely is,” Luke says, flashing Ashton a smile that makes Ashton’s stomach flip. Ashton thinks the fact that Luke’s always on his side might be at least forty percent of the reason he’s been hopelessly in love with him for at least a year. 

“Fuck you,” Michael says. “Spin the fucking bottle, Ash.” Ashton rolls his eyes but leans forwards, sending a quick prayer that it lands on Luke and prefacing it with an apology for not praying in so long but that this is, like, really important, so please overlook that. He takes a deep breath and spins, and all four sets of eyes are glued to the still-slightly-wet beer bottle as it spins. 

It turns, and turns, and turns, starting to slow down at Michael, and Ashton waits with bated breath as it almost, _almost_ lands on Luke…before unequivocally stopping on Calum. 

“Great,” Ashton says, trying not to sound too put out. Calum’s hot. Calum’s cute. Calum’s a good kisser, in Ashton’s experience. Just because he’s not Luke doesn’t mean this is going to be the worst kiss of Ashton’s life. He’s not going to throw a tantrum about it; he’s better than that. 

(Hopefully.)

Calum sighs, deep and heavy, like he’s about to do Ashton the biggest favour in the world, and gets onto his knees, beckoning for Ashton to lean over. Ashton does so obediently, and Calum cups his jaw in his hand and captures Ashton’s lips in a chaste kiss. He lingers there for a count of five, enough time for Ashton to go pliant and tilt his head slightly for better access, before Calum breaks away. 

“Your turn,” he says to Michael, voice unreadable. 

“Oh, so we’re just going to ignore the fact you just _cheated on me_?” Michael says, sounding outraged. Calum rolls his eyes. 

“It’s _spin the fucking bottle_ , Mike,” he says. 

“ _Yeah_ , but it was meant to land on Ashton and _Luke_ ,” Michael says. 

“ _You_ suggested the game,” Calum says. Michael stares at him for a moment, and then rounds on Ashton. 

“I’m going to kill you,” he says, very seriously. 

“How?” Ashton asks, mildly intrigued. 

“I’m not going to _tell you,_ am I?” Michael says. “That would defeat the purpose.” 

“Why not kill Calum?”

“He’s my boyfriend.” 

“It takes two to tango,” Ashton points out. 

“I can’t tango,” Calum says. 

“Neither can Ashton,” Luke says. Ashton frowns. 

“When have you ever seen me tango?” he demands. 

“Can we get back to the fucking point?” Michael says indignantly. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Ashton says apologetically. “You were going to kill me, and not Calum.”

“Yes,” Michael says. “It has to be you. I can’t take Calum on.” 

“I’ll help you,” Luke offers. Michael smiles brightly at him. 

“You will?” he says. Luke shrugs. 

“Well, I can’t kill Ashton, can I?” he says. 

“Why not?” Ashton asks. “Not that I want you to. Just interested.” Luke averts his gaze, cheeks looking a little pink, and shrugs. 

“Same reason as Michael,” he says, which is incredibly cryptic. Ashton’s had a bit too much to drink to deal with Luke’s melodrama. 

“What do you mean?” he asks. 

“Because he’s in love with you,” Michael supplies. Ashton scowls at him, and throws his bottle cap in Michael’s direction. Michael squawks, and just about manages to dodge it. 

“Stop it,” Ashton says, because Michael _knows_ how Ashton feels about Luke, and that’s just rubbing salt in the fucking wound. 

“I’m not fucking joking!” Michael says, affronted. “Luke, tell him I’m not joking.” Luke, whose cheeks are now looking like Michael after fifteen minutes in the sun, shrugs again. 

“No comment,” he says. 

“Well?” Michael prompts, rounding on Ashton. 

“What?” Ashton says defensively, because as far as he can tell, Luke’s just had enough of Michael and can’t be fucked to play along with his stupid charade. 

“He’s just told you he’s in love with you,” Michael says. “I mean, I’m not much of a gentleman, but even I think that warrants a response.” 

“Actually, he said no comment,” Calum puts in helpfully. Michael scowls at him.

“Not helping,” he says. Calum holds his hands up in defence, raising his eyebrows, and takes another sip of his beer. 

“I only devised this game to get you and Luke to fucking kiss,” Michael grumbles, and Luke’s head snaps up at that. 

“What?” Ashton asks. 

“What?” Luke asks. 

“I’m sick of you whining to me about how you’re in love with each other,” Michael says. “I thought spin the bottle would be a good solution.” All three of them stare at him in disbelief, and then start talking all at once. 

“I can’t believe you thought _spin the bottle_ -”

“You know there’s no guaranteed way to make it land on a specific pers-”

“How the fuck was spin the bottle supposed to be helpful in-” 

Michael puts his hands over his ears. 

“I’m drunk,” he says loudly. “I don’t have the best ideas when I’m drunk.” 

“You suggested it when you were sober,” Calum points out. 

“Hang on,” Ashton says, because he’s drunk, but he’s not _that_ drunk. “Are you- did you just say Luke was in love with me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Michael says emphatically. “Jesus _fucking_ Christ.” Ashton looks over at Luke, who’s shrunk into himself, knees pulled to his chest, staring steadfastly at the carpet. 

“Oh,” Ashton says, surprised. 

“I’m sorry,” Luke says, voice small. 

“ _Sor_ \- what?” Ashton says, nonplussed. This is great news, right? Luke’s in love with Ashton, and Ashton’s in love with Luke? 

“I know it’s unprofessional, and, like, might ruin the band, but please don’t kick me out, I promise I’ll-” 

“Idiot,” Michael says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Idiot. _Idiot_.” 

“Hey,” Calum says, frowning. “Don’t be fucking rude.” 

“What?” Ashton says, to Luke. “Luke, I love you, you know that, right?” 

“Yeah, I know, I’m like a brother to you, but-”

“No,” Ashton interrupts. “Like. I _love_ you.” 

“What?”

“Idiots,” Calum says. “ _Idiots_.” 

“See?” Michael says, raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh,” Luke says, and he finally looks up, blue eyes big and wide. “Like….you- oh. _Oh_.”

“Yeah,” Ashton says, and he doesn’t know whether the giddiness in his mind is from the alcohol or the conversation. 

“Oh,” Luke says again, a small smile creeping onto his face. 

“ _Yeah_ ,” Ashton repeats. 

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” Michael mutters. 

“So,” Calum says casually. “Anyone still want to play?” 


	9. "quit staring! they'll notice us"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How the fuck did you fit your arse in those trousers?” Ashton says, marvelling at the sight in front of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "quit staring! they'll notice us"

“How the fuck did you fit your arse in those trousers?” Ashton says, marvelling at the sight in front of him. 

“What?” Ashton takes a step back, just to fully admire the view. 

“You look like you’re about to burst out of the fucking things,” he says. Luke twists around from where he’s staring at the list of drinks behind the baristas to shoot him a glare. 

“Stop talking about my fucking arse,” he says, and one of the girls in the group behind them sniggers, disguising it hastily as a cough. 

“Fine,” Ashton says, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away. 

“And quit staring,” Luke hisses. “They’ll notice us.” Ashton rolls his eyes, and with great difficulty looks away from Luke’s arse and at the selection of cakes in front of them. 

“They’ve already noticed us,” he tells Luke. “Your cheeks entered the room two minutes before we did.” Luke scowls, but he’s slightly pink-cheeked. 

“That doesn’t even make any fucking sense,” he says. “I’d have to be walking backwards for that.” Ashton slips an arm around Luke’s waist, and Luke tenses, but doesn’t pull away. 

“I can make you walk backwards,” Ashton says seriously. Luke shakes his head, but he’s grinning. 

“You have absolutely no fucking idea how sex works, do you?” he says. Ashton shrugs. 

“Usually too distracted by your arse to think about it,” he says sincerely, and Luke rolls his eyes but rests his head against Ashton’s. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he says fondly. 

“Well, that makes us both thick,” Ashton says, and Luke nods absent-mindedly, before realisation dawns, and he scowls, pulling himself away from Ashton. 

“Stop talking about my _fucking_ arse,” he says, far too loudly, and at least three people turn to stare at them. Ashton’s eyes widen, and he grins as Luke flushes. 

“Alright, sweet cheeks,” he says, and Luke pinches his arm. 


	10. "actually, i just miss you"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey,” Luke says, as soon as Ashton picks up the phone. “How do you boil an egg?” Ashton stares at the unmoving LA traffic in front of him in disbelief. 
> 
> “Are you serious?” he says. “You rang me for that? I’m driving, Luke.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "actually, i just miss you"

“Hey,” Luke says, as soon as Ashton picks up the phone. “How do you boil an egg?” Ashton stares at the unmoving LA traffic in front of him in disbelief. 

“Are you serious?” he says. “You rang me for that? I’m driving, Luke.” 

“Well, why’d you pick up the phone?” Ashton doesn’t have an answer for that that isn’t _because it’s you_ , so he just scowls. 

“Put the egg in the water and turn up the heat,” he says grumpily. 

“Okay,” Luke chirps. “Where are you going?” 

“Home.” 

“Where’ve you been?” 

“Calum’s.” 

“Oh.” Luke sounds a little put out at that. “Why are you stuck in traffic, then? Cal’s like, ten minutes from you.” 

“Took a detour to Walmart,” Ashton says, revving the car as the traffic inches forward. 

“Walmart’s miles away,” Luke says. “So really, you took a trip to Walmart, and a detour to Calum’s.” Ashton scowls, slamming on the brakes as the traffic grinds to a halt again.

“You ring me to ask me how to boil an egg and then question where I’ve been?” he says moodily. Luke’s quiet for a moment. 

“Actually,” he says, voice a little small. “I just miss you.” Ashton’s annoyance immediately abates at that, and he can’t help the soft smile that creeps onto his face. 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Luke,” he says, but it comes out fond. “You don’t have to make up reasons to call me.” 

“Well, I _did_ need to ask how to boil an egg,” Luke says. 

“But you could have Googled it,” Ashton points out, and his stomach does a little flip at the fact that Luke had wanted to call him so badly that he’d come up with a dumbass reason like that. 

“Well, you didn’t have to pick up the phone,” Luke says, a little defensively.

“Yeah, I didn’t,” Ashton agrees. “And I wouldn’t have if it had been Michael or Calum.” There’s a moment of silence. 

“Oh,” Luke says, and he sounds distinctly happier. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says, shaking his head, but he’s grinning. 

“Well,” Luke says hopefully, and Ashton can hear the smile in his voice. “Since you’re in the car already, why don’t you just come round and show me how to boil an egg?” Ashton huffs out a laugh, but looks over his shoulder at the left hand lane, already indicating before he speaks. 

“You know, there are easier ways to say ‘I miss you’,” he says. 

“Yeah, but they’re not as cute,” Luke says, and Ashton has to concede there.


	11. "quit it or i'll bite"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stop it,” Ashton says absent-mindedly, eyes on his screen. Luke looks up, surprised. 
> 
> “Are you talking to me?” he says. 
> 
> “No, Luke, I’m talking to the other person in the room,” Ashton says sarcastically, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Luke looks around for a third person in their tiny, cramped office. Ashton rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m talking to you, Luke.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "quit it or i'll bite"

“Stop it,” Ashton says absent-mindedly, eyes on his screen. Luke looks up, surprised. 

“Are you talking to me?” he says. 

“No, Luke, I’m talking to the other person in the room,” Ashton says sarcastically, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Luke looks around for a third person in their tiny, cramped office _._ Ashton rolls his eyes. “ _Yes,_ I’m talking to you, Luke.” 

“Oh,” Luke says, clicking his pen again. “Stop what?”

“That,” Ashton says, jerking his chin towards Luke’s pen. Luke stares at his fingers. 

“What?” he asks, frowning at his hands, like his fingernails have committed some kind of offence. 

“Clicking your pen,” Ashton says, exasperated. 

“Oh,” Luke says. “I didn’t realise I was doing it.” 

“Well, realise,” Ashton says, “and stop it.” Luke puts the pen down, and goes back to work. 

Ten minutes later, the clicking starts again. 

“Luke,” Ashton says warningly. 

“What?”

“You’re clicking.” Luke looks down in surprise, like he’s just realised he’s got the pen in his hands.

“Oh,” he says. “I’m clicking.” Ashton raises his eyebrows pointedly at his screen, typing a response to an email. Luke clicks his pen again, and Ashton’s had enough. He swivels around to face Luke, scowling. 

“Are you serious?” he demands. 

“I had to click it one more time to get it back out again,” Luke protests, and then the pen slips from his grasp, falls to the floor, and there’s another clicking sound. Luke scrambles to pick it up, and clicks it again. 

“Quit it, or I’ll bite,” Ashton says. Luke opens his mouth, and then closes it again. 

“You’ll bite?” he says, and it sounds strangely strangled, like he’s trying not to laugh. Okay, fuck, it’s not the smartest thing Ashton’s ever said, but Jesus fucking Christ, the clicking’s taken all of his sanity from him. 

“I’ll bite,” Ashton reiterates, because what’s he got to lose now? 

“Oh,” Luke says, and he’s biting his lip not to smile. “Could you downgrade that to a kiss, maybe?” 

“Why would I kiss you for annoying the fuck out of me?” Ashton says. Luke blinks at Ashton, all wide and innocent baby blues. 

“A personality quiz told me I respond better to bribery than threats,” he tells Ashton, who snorts. Yeah, he can believe that. 

“Alright, I’ll kiss you if you don’t click that pen again,” Ashton says. Luke hesitates, and then puts the pen down.

“Okay,” he says, looking at Ashton expectantly. 

“I’m not going to kiss you for not clicking the pen for two seconds,” Ashton says.

“How about kissing me just because you love me?” Luke says hopefully, and Ashton huffs out a laugh. 

“Nought for two,” he says, and Luke scowls, and reaches for the pen again. Ashton’s arm flies out to stop him, catching his hand in mid-air. Luke’s fingers lace through Ashton’s instinctively, and he grins at him. 

“This is romantic,” he says, and Ashton snorts. 

“You gonna stop clicking the pen?” he says, and Luke nods. 

“If you kiss me.” Ashton rolls his eyes, like kissing his boyfriend is a massive ordeal, and leans forward to press a gentle, chaste kiss to Luke’s lips. 

“There,” he says, smiling fondly at the soft, happy look on Luke’s face as he leans back. “Now let me work in peace.” Luke nods, letting go of Ashton’s hand, and Ashton turns back to his screen. 

He makes it about two lines into an email before Luke starts clicking the pen again. 

“What the hell, Luke?” Ashton says, rounding on him with a frown. “We had a deal.” 

“Well,” Luke says, grinning wickedly. “I already got my kiss, didn’t I?” 

Ashton hates him. 


	12. ashton using terrible pick-up lines and luke loving them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke’s about to fall asleep from boredom when the hottest guy he’s ever seen comes up to his till. 
> 
> “Hi,” he says, and Luke jerks upright and almost pokes himself in the eye, immediately blushing when the guy grins at him. He clears his throat, looks down at his hands, busying himself with opening and closing the till just for something to do. 
> 
> “How can I help you?” Luke mumbles, in his best customer-service-politeness-but-mitigated-by-the-fact-you’re-hot-and-I’m-incredibly-awkward voice. A woman’s hovering behind the guy now, clutching a Pink Floyd vinyl, peering around the guy’s shoulder. 
> 
> “I’m just wondering,” the guys asks casually, “have you got an extra heart?” Luke blinks at him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: ashton dropping pick up lines on luke that are absolutely so cheesy that they give people second hand embarrassment. And much to everyone's horror, luke loves them.

Luke’s about to fall asleep from boredom when the hottest guy he’s ever seen comes up to his till. 

“Hi,” he says, and Luke jerks upright and almost pokes himself in the eye, immediately blushing when the guy grins at him. He clears his throat, looks down at his hands, busying himself with opening and closing the till just for something to do. 

“How can I help you?” Luke mumbles, in his best customer-service-politeness-but-mitigated-by-the-fact-you’re-hot-and-I’m-incredibly-awkward voice. A woman’s hovering behind the guy now, clutching a Pink Floyd vinyl, peering around the guy’s shoulder. 

“I’m just wondering,” the guys asks casually, “have you got an extra heart?” Luke blinks at him. 

“Uh,” he says, and the guy’s grin widens. 

“Because I think mine just got stolen,” he adds.

“Um,” Luke says. “I, uh. Don’t really. Uh.” He swallows. “If you could tell me the band, I’ll have a look in the back?” The guy huffs out a laugh.

“I hope you know CPR,” he tells Luke. 

“I don’t?” Luke says, equal parts confused and concerned. “If you’re not feeling well, you can take a seat over there, I’ll call an ambulance-” 

“Because you’re taking my breath away,” the guy finishes, and Luke stops short. 

“I-” he starts, but the guy interrupts him, eyes twinkling. 

“Is there an airport nearby?” he asks. 

“I, uh, kind of? It’s about half an hour on the train, but-”

“Or was that just my heart taking off?” The guy’s grinning widely now, and the woman behind him is staring at him, jaw dropped, something between horror and disgust on her face. Luke stares at him for a moment.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he says hesitantly, after a minute. 

“Do you have a name?” the guy asks. 

“Luke,” Luke says, even though it’s right there on his name badge. The guy nods. 

“Luke,” he repeats, like he’s mulling it over. “Cute. But I think I’d rather call you mine.” He grins, winks at Luke, and then saunters away, leaving Luke gaping in his wake. The woman behind him watches him leave too, staring at him like she’s never wanted anything more than for him to get out of her sight, and then fixes her gaze on Luke, steps forward to the till. 

“Those are the worst pick-up lines I’ve ever heard,” she says, flicking another gaze at the door that the guy’s just walked out of. 

“Pick-up lines?” Luke repeats, taking the vinyl out of her hand and scanning it so he won’t have to look at her. 

“Yeah?” she says, like he’s an idiot, and oh. Yeah. Maybe Luke _is_ an idiot. 

“Oh,” he says, trying not to focus on the way his stomach flips at the idea that that hot guy was _flirting_ with him, and hands her her change. “Have a nice day.” 

——-

“I’m lost, Luke,” a voice announces three days later, and Luke jumps, fumbling to get his phone back in his pocket as he looks up, coming face to face with the guy. 

“Oh,” Luke says, little more than a squeak. “Where d’you need to get to? I can, uh, look it up on Maps for you?” 

“Can you give me directions to your heart?” he asks solemnly, and a smile creeps onto Luke’s face. Two people join the queue behind the guy, their chattering a buzzing in Luke’s ears as he tries to suppress the strange ecstasy shooting through his veins at this hot guy flirting with him. 

“I mean-” 

“I’m a thief,” the guy interrupts. Luke blinks at him. 

“Uh, okay?” he says. 

“I’m here to steal your heart,” the guy says, and Luke snorts, but he’s grinning. The two people behind the guy have stopped talking, staring at him in unfiltered revulsion.

“Is that why you need directions?” Luke asks, and the guy grins back at him. 

“Maybe,” he says. “Hey, is it hot in here? Or is it just you?” One girl behind the guy winces, and her friend says _oh, fucking hell,_ loud enough for Luke to hear. The guy doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just doesn’t care. 

“Most people call me Ashton,” the guy says, “but you can call me tomorrow.” He throws Luke a wink, and heads for the door again. Luke watches him go, a smile playing on his lips. 

Ashton, he thinks, letting the name roll around in his mind. Huh. 

Ashton.

——-

The next time Luke sees Ashton is a week later. 

“Well, here I am,” he announces, swaggering up to Luke’s till. Michael, at the till over, gives Luke a strange look. “What are your other two wishes for the genie?” 

“Uh,” Luke says, fighting back a smile. 

“Where have I seen you before?” Ashton asks, faux-musing. 

“I work here,” Luke says, trying not to grin. 

“Oh, that’s right,” Ashton says, snapping his fingers, like he’s just remembered. “It was in the dictionary next to the word ‘gorgeous’.” Luke can’t help the smile that finds its way onto his lips at that, or the flush that rises to his cheeks. Michael turns to face the guy, hands on his hips. 

“Are you serious, mate?” he demands. “Leave him the fuck alone.” 

“No, Mike,” Luke protests, and Michael takes one look at him, and frowns. 

“You’re not _enjoying_ this, are you?” he says. Luke hesitates, and Michael rolls his eyes. “Are you fucking insane, Luke?” 

“I just-” Luke says. 

“You know, I think I’ve lost my phone number,” Ashton says conversationally. “Can I have yours?” Michael stares at him in disbelief, and then Luke, and then throws his hands up in the air. 

“Fine, give the cringiest guy in the world your number,” he mutters, loud enough that Luke knows he’s supposed to hear it. “Who needs self-respect, anyway?” 

Not Luke, he thinks, so he scribbles his number down and passes it over. 

(The brilliant smile Ashton gives him is better than any scrap of self-respect Luke may have ever had). 


	13. "really? do i look stupid?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashton can’t help the sigh that escapes his lips when Luke leaves the changing room. 
> 
> “Seriously?” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Another silk shirt?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "really? do i look stupid?"

Ashton can’t help the sigh that escapes his lips when Luke leaves the changing room. 

“Seriously?” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Another silk shirt?” Luke fiddles with the collar, staring at himself in the mirror. 

“This one’s pink, though,” he says, like he doesn’t have two pink silk shirts at home already. 

“You’re never going to be able to retire if you keep buying silk shirts,” Ashton tells him. Luke narrows his eyes at himself, considering, and then unbuttons one more button. Ashton swallows, and tries not to let his eyes be drawn to the pale, flat expanse of Luke’s chest, tries not to let his imagination (and memory) wild. 

“Well, then I’ll _need_ the silk shirts, won’t I?” Luke points out. “Need to be looking my best if I’m going to be performing until the day I die.” 

“You could just stop buying them now,” Ashton suggests, folding his arms and leaning against the door of another changing cubicle. Luke spins around, and grins at him. 

“Need to be looking my best now, too, if I’m going to compete with my bandmates,” he says. “I mean, I _am_ in a band with Ashton Irwin.” Ashton rolls his eyes, but grins. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he says, and Luke grins, and turns back to the mirror. “You look so fucking dumb.” Luke tilts his head, opening another button, and Ashton can’t help the sharp intake of breath that escapes him. Luke smirks at himself in the mirror. 

“Really?” he says, flicking his gaze lazily to Ashton in the mirror. “Do I look stupid?” Ashton swallows, and casts a furtive glance around. 

“D’you think these changing rooms are soundproof?” he says, and Luke laughs. 

“Almost definitely not,” he says, eyes glittering, “but I promise I’ll be quiet.” 

(Ashton knows Luke can’t keep that promise, but he’s too far gone to care.)


	14. "did anyone else just see that?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Luke lived on a tour bus, he thought it sounded cool as fuck. Being on a bus, travelling the world, with his three best mates? Away from any responsibilities or anyone (bar Ashton, who sometimes puts his stern ‘I feel like I should disapprove of this’ face on) to hold him responsible? If Luke’s honest with himself, it was a solid thirty percent of the reason he wanted to be in a band. 
> 
> As an over-excited fifteen-year-old, however, he’d failed to take into account that bunks are really fucking cramped little spaces, that a bus isn’t really the ideal place for a group of six-foot-something guys in their twenties to be crammed together like sardines, that Michael doesn’t shower nearly as much as he claims he does, and that really, when they’re out in the middle of nowhere with no internet or data connection, it’s pretty fucking boring. 
> 
> “Hey,” he says, somewhere between English City A and English City B. “Let’s play a game.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "did anyone else just see that?"

Before Luke lived on a tour bus, he thought it sounded cool as fuck. Being on a bus, travelling the world, with his three best mates? Away from any responsibilities or anyone (bar Ashton, who sometimes puts his stern ‘I feel like I should disapprove of this’ face on) to hold him responsible? If Luke’s honest with himself, it was a solid thirty percent of the reason he wanted to be in a band. 

As an over-excited fifteen-year-old, however, he’d failed to take into account that bunks are really fucking cramped little spaces, that a bus isn’t really the ideal place for a group of six-foot-something guys in their twenties to be crammed together like sardines, that Michael doesn’t shower nearly as much as he claims he does, and that really, when they’re out in the middle of nowhere with no internet or data connection, it’s pretty fucking boring. 

“Hey,” he says, somewhere between English City A and English City B. “Let’s play a game.” 

“Yeah,” Michael mumbles, from where he’s curled up on Calum’s lap. “How about a round of ‘shut the fuck up, Luke’?” 

“Michael,” Ashton says reprovingly, with a frown. 

“Ashton,” Michael mocks, and then Calum frowns, and nudges Michael with his shoulder. Michael sighs, all long-suffering, but shuts up. 

“What game?” Calum says, because he always humours Luke, and that’s why he’s at least second on Luke’s list of favourite band members. 

“How about I Spy?” Luke suggests. Michael rolls his eyes. 

“Are you five?” he says. 

“Do you hate fun?” Luke shoots back. 

“If it involves having to look at the English countryside, yeah,” Michael retorts. Luke scowls. 

“It’s not that bad,” he says, stealing a glance out of the window to find out that it is, in fact, that bad. It’s absolutely pouring with rain, grey sky dull and lifeless, and the flat fields that they’re driving past look exactly the same as the ones they saw two hours ago. 

“I’ll play with you,” Ashton says, shooting Michael another reproachful look. 

“I’ll play,” Calum says, although he sounds like he’s doing it as a favour. Luke hopes he’s not going to call it in later. Last time Calum had cashed in a favour from Luke it had ended with Luke spending a night in a cell. 

“Fucking hell, fine,” Michael grumbles, because he can’t stand to not be involved in something, even if he hates said something. 

“I’ll start,” Calum says, before Michael has the chance to cut in and say something like _I spy with my little eye, something beginning with D. Dickhead._ “I spy with my little eye, something beginning with L.” 

“Luke,” Michael says immediately. “Easy. I spy with my li-”

“No, not Luke,” Calum interrupts. 

“Lamp,” Luke says. Calum shakes his head. 

“Loins,” Ashton suggests, and Calum, Michael and Luke all whip around to stare at him. “What?” he says defensively. “There are loins here.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Calum says, in disbelief. “What the fuck is a loin?”

“Isn’t that, like, dicks?” Michael says. Ashton shrugs. 

“I think it’s your abs,” he says. 

“You can’t fucking suggest something if you don’t know what it means,” Michael says. 

“Why not?” Ashton demands. 

“Because-” Michael doesn’t seem to have thought his argument through, so he just throws his hands in the air. One of them catches Calum’s chin on the way up, making him hiss and jerk away. 

“Ow, fucker,” he says, rubbing at his chin. “Watch where you put your fucking hands.” 

“Weren’t saying that last night,” Michael says, with a leer and a glint in his eyes, and Luke takes that as his cue to tune out of the conversation and stare out of the window. 

It’s kind of pretty, actually, he thinks, once you get used to it. There’s something sort of beautiful in the way the flat grey light spreads evenly across the green fields, broken up by irregular and jagged walls that look centuries old, the way the hills roll from one to the next, the way the twisting streams seem almost alive with the relentless rain. It’s not somewhere Luke would ever choose to be, miles away from his warm, sandy home comforts, but it’s something he can appreciate nonetheless. 

Suddenly, a streak of bright light flashes through the sky - just for a moment, falling so fast that Luke doesn’t even register what it is until it’s gone - and he gasps, whipping back around to face Ashton, Michael and Calum.

“Did anyone else just see that?” Luke asks, eyes wide. He’s never seen a fucking shooting star before. 

“-as if I- what?” Michael says, breaking off to turn to Luke. 

“A shooting star!” Luke says, grinning, and he knows he sounds like an overexcited kid but fucking hell, a _shooting star?_

“Shooting stars only happen at night,” Michael says, like Luke’s an idiot. 

“No, I saw a video of one during the day,” Calum says. “In Russia, I think.”

“Wait, are we in Russia?” Michael says. 

“No, England.” 

“Well, then it wasn’t a shooting star, was it?” Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Just because I saw it on a video about Russia doesn’t mean it’s _exclusive_ to Russia-” he begins, and Ashton rolls his eyes and sits down next to Luke. It’s a bit of a tight squeeze, since the sofa’s only so big and Luke’s growth hormones didn’t get the memo about it, but Luke doesn’t mind. There are worse fates than being pressed arm-to-arm, leg-to-leg against Ashton Irwin. 

“I’ve never seen a shooting star,” Ashton remarks, after a moment, staring out of the window. 

“Me either,” Luke says. “Until just now, I mean.” Ashton hums noncommittally, and Luke watches his eyes follow a raindrop make its way down the window of the bus. 

“Did you make a wish?” Ashton asks after a minute. Luke shakes his head. 

“Didn’t realise what it was fast enough,” he says. 

“What would you have wished for?” Ashton asks, and Luke hesitates. 

He’s got almost everything he wants. He’s got the band - his best friends, his career, his independence - he gets to travel the world, gets to make an impact, have an influence, _be_ someone. He’s got money, fame, stability, a family who love him, homes on both sides of the planet. On the face of it, he’s got pretty much everything. 

But he doesn’t have Ashton. 

He can’t say that, though. He can’t sit there, with Michael and Calum still bickering across the aisle, and say _I would’ve wished for you._ He can’t tell Ashton, because it could throw all those things he’s mentally listed just now - fame, fortune, friends - into jeopardy. Everything is balanced on the knife’s edge that is Luke keeping his mouth firmly shut, his heart firmly sealed. 

“Dunno,” he says, casting his gaze down to his thighs. 

“You don’t?” Ashton says. 

“Well, what would you wish for?” Luke deflects. “What do you wish for when you’ve got almost everything?” Ashton shrugs. 

“I don’t have almost everything,” he says. “I’m still not the person I want to be. I flare up too quickly, take too long to come back down.” 

“You’d wish for a better temper?” Luke says dubiously. 

“No,” Ashton says. “I’m just saying. I don’t have almost everything.” 

“Well, if not your temper, then what?” Luke pushes, because he’s interested now. Ashton shrugs again, but it’s a little uncomfortable this time. 

“Something I know I can never have,” he says, eyes flitting from the window to Luke and back again. 

“Like what, the Mona Lisa?” Ashton’s gaze flicks back to Luke, and he stares at him. 

“The fucking Mona Lisa?” he says, in disbelief. “You think the first time I see a shooting star I’m going to wish for the _Mona fucking Lisa?”_

“It was just an example,” Luke says defensively. “What else can you never have? You can buy pretty much anything else.” Ashton’s mouth twists in a humourless grin, and he tears his gaze away from Luke again. 

“Not everything, Luke,” he says, and it sounds like he’s chiding him. “Don’t forget that.” 

“No, I know,” Luke says, feeling like he’s being told off somehow. “I just. I meant, like.” He waves his hands around, like it’s going to express his point for him. There’s a reason he’s never been much of a fucking lyricist. 

“I know,” Ashton says, because he does. He always knows what Luke means, even when Luke doesn’t, and it’s part of what makes it so fucking hard. “You’d better come up with a good wish before you see another shooting star, though.”

“I’ve got one,” Luke says, without thinking. 

“Oh?” Ashton says, arching an eyebrow, interest piqued. Luke shrugs uncomfortably. 

“Yeah,” he says, and then, when it becomes clear Ashton’s waiting for more: “Something I can never have, too, I guess.” There’s an edge of bitterness that laces his words, but he can’t help it. He’s pretty sure unrequited love is a good enough reason to be bitter at the world. 

Ashton hums, looking back out of the window at the rapidly-darkening sky, and holds his hand out, fingers splayed. Luke takes it, slotting his fingers in between Ashton’s, and squeezes when Ashton’s hand closes around his own. 

“Imagine if we were both wishing for the same thing,” Ashton says, sounding a little wistful, and Luke huffs out an only-half-humourless laugh. 

“Yeah,” he says, a little sadly. “Imagine.” 

Ashton squeezes his hand, tracing his thumb over Luke’s, and Luke closes his eyes and sends out a belated wish, just in case. 


End file.
